


Hypocrite and the Hipster

by Excalibur



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:10:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excalibur/pseuds/Excalibur
Summary: A coffeeshop AU with barista!Arthur, loner!Merlin and plenty of references to music you've probably never heard of anyway.





	Hypocrite and the Hipster

“What can I get you?”

Distracted with his tangled headphones, Merlin hasn’t even realized he’s reached the front of the line until the barista greets him. He looks up briefly and quickly does a double-take, his order suddenly floating from his mind and leaving in its wake the suggestions for about a thousand things he’d like to ask for that would be a whole lot less well received than the request for an iced drink.

Because the reality is, this man is – well – _smoldering._

Merlin quickly forces himself to think about iced drinks once more. Very cold ones.

Did he honestly just use the word _smoldering?_

“Are you all right?”

Merlin jerks his head up, opening and closing his mouth one or two times, but for some reason there aren’t any sounds coming out. The man prods him again. “What do you want to drink? There is a queue...”

“Tea,” Merlin blurts, then snaps his mouth shut. _Tea?_

“Tea.” The man repeats coolly. “Just tea?”

Merlin doesn’t trust himself to speak again, so he just nods.

The man stares at him for a couple more moments, and Merlin’s thoughts are slowly getting away from him when he realizes why the man hasn’t left yet. “We do have different _kinds_ of tea, here,” the man says with a patronizing smirk. “As well as sizes. We also have –”

“Surprise me,” Merlin interrupts.

The man rolls his eyes. “Tea,” he says. “Really cannot get all that surprising.”

Merlin cocks an eyebrow. For some reason the teasing calms him, makes him feel more in his element. “Really? With all of your flavours, and sizes, and –”

“Shut up.” The man leaves.

Merlin is left awkwardly thinking about flavours and sizes and (how they might apply to) hot, ignorant men, and –

“Can I get your name?”

Merlin’s heart just about leaps out of his chest. _He just!_ – then Merlin sees the marker in the man’s hand, poised over the cheap Styrofoam cup, and his heart does some strange jerky flop and lands somewhere in the pit of his stomach. “Merlin,” he says shortly.

The man raises an eyebrow at him incredulously. After a moment of eye contact that puts Merlin on the verge of feeling a little flushed, the show-stopping barista just shrugs and says, “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me your real name, that’s cool.” He disappears before Merlin can argue with him.

Another man approaches the counter to take Merlin’s payment, and by the time Merlin stumbles over to the pickup counter his drink is waiting for him but the gorgeous barista is nowhere to be seen. Frustrated, Merlin hangs around for a couple moments, but the coffee shop is busy and he wants to snag a seat, and for some reason his mood has plummeted and he just doesn’t feel like hovering around anymore.

He’d completely forgotten his earlier request to the barista when – “Surprised?”

Merlin, in the middle of a sudden coughing fit, doesn’t answer at first. “What the hell are you trying to feed me?”

“It’s called coffee.”

“People drink this willingly? No offense.”

“None taken, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says, giving him an unimpressed look.

“You don’t have to say it like that. It’s my real name, I wouldn’t lie to a barista.”

The man cocks an eyebrow. His expression was unreadable. “How admirable of you. No need to get upset.” He begins to walk away, pulling a tiny piece of Merlin’s lonely, desirous heart with him, until some otherworldly force seems to still him and turn him back around. “If that’s the case,” he adds thoughtfully. “I might as well introduce myself back. I could use a few more trustworthy people in my life. The name’s Arthur.”

Merlin springs to his feet, suddenly fed up with this arrogant man at a moment that should have been so _wonderful,_ his temperament flipping in a single instant. “You don’t have to do that,” he snaps. “I’ve heard all the jokes about my name before. I’d rather you didn’t make fun of me, and just keep your arrogant – you –” he grabs his bag, and before Arthur has a chance to respond, charges out the door.

“I don’t even _like coffee,_ ” Merlin mutters loudly on his way out. Why did he bother?

  


***

  


“ _Will,_ ” Merlin says desperately, less than twelve hours later, feeling decidedly bothered. “Will. I need _help._ ”

“What the fuck, Merlin.”

“Will, this is an emergency.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Not that kind of emergency. Will, listen to me.”

“Merlin. It is two o’clock in the morning. The fact that I’m on this bloody fucking phone at all should tell you that I’m listening.”

Merlin almost doesn’t hear him, distraught as he is, clicking away on his laptop.

“What are you typing?” Will probes, sounding exhausted already, but staying on the phone nonetheless.

“Nothing,” Merlin says. Then, “I’m, um, rearranging my music library.”

“Oh God.” A pause. “Not again. That bad, is it?”

“ _Yes,_ Will. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“Well.” A long sigh. “Tell me all about him, then.”

  


***

  


Merlin manages to wait a single day before heading back to the coffeeshop, berating himself the entire way there. _I don’t even know this guy,”_ he reminds himself. _He’s a complete asshole who made fun of my name. And he didn’t smile. He probably won’t even be there._

And yet… inexplicably, Merlin’s chance encounter with this attractive, blonde-haired barista who had given Merlin barely thirty seconds of attention has managed to throw the entire trajectory of Merlin’s world askew. _It’s because it happened in a coffeeshop,_ Will had told him, as if that was supposed to explain something obvious. Regardless, what matters is that Merlin has found himself filled with an irrepressible hope and joy, unable to resist seeing possibility and taking delight in every happening of his day, all related to him imagining further encounters between himself and this mysterious man. It is completely, utterly ridiculous. Totally out of hand.

But oh God, Merlin cannot stop himself from dreaming.

“What are you listening to?”

That voice. _Breathe,_ Merlin. Only about five minutes ago he had ordered himself an acceptably-plain tea from a kind, curly-haired woman at the counter and settled at a table by the window, determinately not looking to see if a certain one of the curly-haired women’s coworkers was present that day, when – 

– hang on, that was a question. Merlin is supposed to respond. “One Direction,” he says quickly, because it’s true, but immediately winces. “It’s just that one song –”

“What kind of hipster _are_ you?” The blonde barista interrupts, pulling back with a disgruntled expression.

Merlin frowns. “Um – I never said I was a hipster? What does that even mean?” The man just stares at him. He’s beautiful where he stands, the sun filtering through the terribly-ugly gossamer curtains of the café, curtains that Merlin suddenly loves because they cast the most exquisite shadows under this man’s collarbones. How is he even allowed to wear his shirt unbuttoned that far? With the man’s windswept blond hair and knotted apron, he has an and utterly appealing urban-roguish look, Merlin thinks. Christ – did Merlin honestly just describe something as “urban-roguish?” 

The man just stares at him. “This is the second time you’ve come in here to drink tea, stare moodily out the window, and listen to whatever those oversized headphones are playing,” he says. “You’re wearing a shirt with a ridiculously arcane symbol on it, you just asked for _almond_ milk with your tea, for heaven’s sake, and don’t think I don’t see that you’re writing an honest to God _complaint_ there because we don't have a _bicycle rack_ in our plaza. Hipster."

Merlin was too offended to process the fact that this man had just spoken multiple sentences to him. "But every plaza should -"

"Plus," The blonde-haired man cuts him off. "You’re wearing a... neckerchief.”

What was this guy’s deal? “A kerchief. _A kerchief_ makes me a hipster? It’s a piece of cloth. One that, I might add, bears no trace of an arcane symbol of any sort.”

“But surely you must have realized, Merlin, that people don’t actually wear those.”

This is the turning point. This is the point Merlin can begin flirting with this terrible, terribly-attractive man, possibly sacrificing whatever dignity he possesses, or, he can slide under the table like an omelette and pretend he was never born. He’s completely helpless.

“Are you saying I’m weird?” Merlin asks with a small cough.

“I’m saying you’re unique,” the man says, with absolutely no change in expression.

“Is that a weird unique or, um, an _intriguing_ unique?” Merlin asks, feeling himself melt on the inside.

The man completely ignores the question. “if I remember correctly, we were talking about your love of One Direction –”

“Arthur!” a voice suddenly calls from the other side of the shop. “There’s a line. Stop flirting with that hot hipster kid and get your ass back behind the counter.”

Merlin laughs and pretends to mess with his headphones as a soft, crimson blush creeps over his features. “What’s the problem with someone being a hipster, anyway?” he asks, before the man leaves, only to find that the barista has already turned away.

Merlin doesn’t sleep that night.

  


***

  


A few days later, Arthur is going through his usual routine, barely noticing the unfamiliar, brown-haired young customer as he orders a nondescript drink and leans over the counter to watch Arthur make it.

As Arthur passes it to him, though, the man's gaze narrows. "You're not wearing a name tag," he says.

"Oh. Sorry." Arthur reaches under the counter and searches around for a moment before pulling his out and pinning it on. He spreads his arms to the sides. "Happy?" In any other situation, he might have considered this flirting, but he just wasn't in the mood for it, now. He wonders if that has anything to do with a different customer, a dark-haired, blue eyed -

"Arthur?"

It’s the boring customer again. "What? Yes? How do you know my name?"

The man gives him a look that speaks so much _Merlin_ that Arthur practically takes a step back. "You just put your name tag on."

Oh. Right.

The man sticks out his hand. "The name's Will." Arthur ignores his gesture, staring the man down until Will sighs. "Merlin's apparently designated me as the official go-between. Well, I’ve designated myself, actually. And before you ask, we're best friends, been so for ages, and only ever will be. Also, he's gay."

 _"What?"_ The other occupants of the coffeeshop actually stop what they’re doing and turn around to stare at Arthur. He stares right back. They look down first. Arthur turns back to Will, brushes a hand through his hair, and tries to pretend that the last five minutes didn’t actually happen. "Well. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Um, there's your drink and, I didn’t need to know any of that, but yep. See you later."

Will looks like he’s enjoying himself. "You do like him."

Arthur shoots him such a look of such venom that lesser men would have melted on the spot. "I don't see how it's any of your business. And besides, I only met him a week ago."

The humour falls from Will's face. "I make it my business, Arthur. Merlin is always quick to rush into these things, he never thinks twice when he thinks he's found a way out. He's either too stupid or too trusting to learn to protect himself, and I swear to you now that I will _not_ let you hurt him."

Arthur locks eyes with Will for a long, slow moment, considers the weight of the history between them, wonders what baggage Merlin might be lugging along, and decides it doesn’t matter. He’s just a kid in a coffeeshop. "Thanks, Will. I barely even know him, you know."

Will just shrugs, takes his drink, and leaves the shop, neglecting to thank Arthur in return.

  


***

  


"Your name _is_ Arthur."

Merlin again. Arthur can’t explain why it makes his day suddenly seem just a little bit better. "Yes, thank you for pointing that out to me, Merlin, I do forget sometimes."

Merlin ignores the biting sarcasm. "Why didn't you say so?" he asks.

"Strange," Arthur responds. "I distinctly remember saying, 'my name is Arthur'. Did I introduce myself as somebody else by accident?"

"No -" Merlin is flustered. "I meant - when I left, that first time we met. Why didn't you tell me you weren't joking?"

"Because you _left,_ Merlin. It's a little difficult to talk to somebody who's not there."

This conversation is obviously not going at all the way Merlin had wanted it to. "But I -"

"Look, Merlin." Arthur sets his elbows on the counter and leans over to speak to the young man comfortably. "How about we both accept that this was entirely your fault, forget it, and move on? We can start again." He holds out a hand. "Hello, my name is Arthur. Who might you be?"

Merlin still looks a little confused, as if trying to work out whether or not he's been insulted, but he nevertheless reaches out a hand to shake Arthur's. "Merlin."

And that, as they say, was destiny.


End file.
